


Getting On Track

by GhostScript



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Character Development, Drug Addiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostScript/pseuds/GhostScript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow up to The Waiting Is The Hardest Part, Which is my version of the events that unfolded after Joan's abduction in 2x22.<br/>Joan wrestles with Sherlock's demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting On Track

**Author's Note:**

> I realize I left things a little abysmal so I'm getting my Sherlock on the right track so they can get back to solving crimes. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'd like to think of these two initial posts as a sort of preface- mood writing? After this will be structured murder solving...
> 
> probably.

"Sherlock are you alright?" Joan had been trying to get a good read on him during the whole case for Mycroft and every time she drew near he was gone. He was on an 'errand' or needed some thinking space. He'd told her he was coming down with something.  
"It's a bug that is going around. I told you. Everyone of the wednesday NA regulars has been knee deep in chicken soup by now."  
She knew he was overtired and clearly hadn't been eating. Exhaustion counted for all of those things, she'd comforted herself.  
Hes exhausted.  
She'd been watching him stare at the same email for twenty minutes, absentmindedly scratching his face.  
"I know there isn't a case right now but do you want to come over to my place for a bit? I'll order Thai food since you are evidently incapable of feeding yourself." 

"No. I'm quite alright here. I'm just going to sleep…" His eyelids looked like the heaviest part of his body "Raincheck though, alright ?"

"Yeah. Of course. Get some rest. I'll come by tomorrow."

Joan was halfway home when her phone illuminated her sweater pocket. Alfredo? 

"Hey Fredo how are you? "

"Hey Joan I hate to bug you but you seen Sherlock lately?"

She stopped walking "Yeah, just a minute ago. Haven't you? He said there's a flu going round."

"I don't want to alarm you, but I haven't been able to reach him in days. The last meeting I saw him at was weeks ago and he only stayed five minutes. Something about a case…"

"Yeah it was a tattoo thing- I mean, we've been working."

"It could be nothing. We both know how he gets wrapped up. Just tell him to text me, Okay?"

After he hung up she examined her phone in disbelief. Just because she was no longer his sober companion- because she'd learned to trust him- She gave him the benefit of the doubt. Had she been careless?  
Instead of heading straight towards her apartment she turned around and hailed a cab.  
"Eleventh precinct please."

The car smelled sickly sweet and it made her nauseous. 

The ride was short but when she arrived at the big brick building she felt a rush of trepidation. If she even introduced the IDEA that Sherlock was using again he'd be kicked off the team. She'd been taking away his livelihood. If she talked to Gregson alone he would be more understanding, but ultimately he would follow procedure. Marcus? If Marcus thought Sherlock was high on the job he'd easily lose whatever trust he'd gained back since the shooting.  
It had to be Gregson.  
She thumbed though the contacts on her IPhone and pressed call.

"Hey its Joan, I'm outside the precinct but I don't want to come in. Can you meet me for coffee? That place across the street."

"Yeah, of course."

He sounded gruff and tired too. A lot of long nights doing his best, she knew.Thomas Gregson was a dying breed; a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the integrity to carry it. 

She shoved her cellphone back into her sweater and pulled her angora beret taut. The night had grown cold and she was thankful she always kept lined leather gloves in her bag. 

The barista greeted her warmly "The usual Ms. Watson?"  
"Just a tea tonight Judy, Earl Grey."  
"No Sherlock tonight?"  
"Nope."  
"Aw thats too bad. He won thirty bucks off Leeroy- You know Officer Leeroy he's that tough lookin' beat cop with the dopey haircut. Anyway he won thirty bucks off him from some bet they had and Leeroy has been positively SEETHING for a rematch." 

Joan chuckled and pulled a twenty from her wallet.  
"It's on the house." Judy smiled and handed her a warm mug. Steam rose from within and she breathed in deeply.  
Joan took the tea and found a seat in a booth nearby. She took off her coat and scarf and retrieved her phone and placed it face up on the table. No new messages. 

She checked her email and her Facebook, scrolled though photos from her cousins wedding. She clicked that she 'liked' some and wrote 'CUTE' with an emoticon smiley face because she felt obliged not because she necessarily meant it. 

She changed her phone background wallpaper to a selfie she took with Clyde one morning months ago after Sherlock had sent him in on a wakeup mission. 

Gregson appeared at the counter and ordered a drip. Judy made his on the house as well.

"So whats this all about Joan."

He took off his tan trench coat and folded it over the back of the seat before he sat down. 

"It's Sherlock."

"Why am I not surprised…"

She sipped her tea, holding the cup with both hands. The heat soothed her palms "It could be nothing" She started.

"Uh huh. But it could be something. And if it were nothing I doubt you'd have avoided coming in to the station." He had a great skill of seeing right through your soul.

"Has he been acting weird lately?"

"You mean other than all the time? Or do you mean do I think he's up to something?"

"I think he might relapse… If he hasn't already." Saying the words out loud made her throat dry.

"Well you guys haven't exactly had a vacation of a month." he paused and took a long drink from his coffee "I don't know Joan. Yeah, he might be. I'm not gonna lie I've had my suspicions. Marcus said he caught him sleeping in the file room. That's not out of the ordinary but his heads been cloudy. He hasn't been looking me in the eye."

"He's been avoiding me."

"Maybe thats the most suspicious part about it. Cuz the regular Sherlock hovers over you like a honey bee." 

"I need to find out for sure before I can confront him. I need to have the upper hand."

"You know I can't have him working cases with a needle in his arm, right? And if word gets out that he's using I doubt I'm gonna be able to get you guys the same access when or if he gets clean… If I can get him reinstated at all."

"I know." 

"I'll keep things under my hat as long as I can. But if i catch him I'm not gonna be so delicate."

Gregson checked his watch and stood up. "Keep me posted."

Joan nodded and thanked him. 

Her stomach growled. The drink had reminded her stomach that she hadn't eaten in hours. She waved goodbye to Judy and continued home.

When she reached her lobby Sherlock was already there, sitting on one of the bench seats by the wall of mailboxes. He had his hands in his lap and white bags of takeout tucked beside him.  
"Changed my mind."  
He jutted his chin out and raised an eyebrow toward her. 

She smiled sweetly and grabbed the bag by the handle "I'm glad."

 

Sherlock had eaten half a spring roll and passed out. He snored loudly but tonight it was endearing.  
She grabbed the spare comforter from the bottom of her closet and set it on the floor beside him. She studied his face. He was pale. Not much more than usual. He maybe looked a little gaunt. She checked his temperature with her wrist but there was no sign of fever. His pulse was weak but steady.  
She couldn't get his blazer off without waking him.  
Rummaging through his pockets yielded no solid evidence. A scribbled phone number, his lock picking kit and flashlight.  
She leafed through his wallet, the act of which sent a tingle through her body she wasn't expecting. He'd invaded her privacy so often but it was rare she could dig deep into Sherlock without jumping through hoops. She'd felt a twinge of it when she had Irene's letters. How close she had come to reading them.

Passport. Receipt for the pad thai… Credit card. No cash. Pack of cigarettes; two left. Lighter. 

She carefully removed his brown leather boots and checked them for any stashed baggies. Working with addicts taught her that anything that could be a stash spot would be a stash spot.  
Sherlock is not a regular addict. His stash spot would be smarter. 

"Watson" he slurred opening one eye.  
"I'm just bring you a blanket just go back to sleep."

"No…" he stirred and pushed it aside "I'd better go home.I didn't intend on falling asleep."

He jolted up and took a deep breath.  
"Waston?"

"Yes?"

"If the allure of seeing my passport photo was so enthralling to you, you could have just asked and I'd have shown you."  
He quipped, grinding his teeth. He slid his feet back into his boots and straightened his jacket. 

"I understand your concern but I'm fine. I've just been sick. I'm adjusting to things. Alfredo and I have had long nights..." 

Liar. He is lying to my face again. No more beating around the bush.

"Roll up your sleeves."

"What?"

"Roll. Up. Your. Sleeves."

"I'm leaving."

Joan grabbed Sherlock's hand and pushed the fabric up exposing an arm riddled with puncture marks and bruises.  
"You done lying to me or you got some other bullshit story you want to try and get past?"

Sherlock turned red and yanked his arm back "You aren't in charge of my affairs anymore it didn't seem important!"

"Didn't seem important?! You've decided to fill yourself up with poison and throw everything away including your work and you didn't think it was important to tell your partner?!! You didn't think to tell your best friend?!"

"Let me guess," she continued, so mad that she was in his face, shoving him hard against the wall, her fists clenched white "you didn't INTEND on nodding out here you only meant to throw me off the scent by pretending to act like a decent person, then you were gonna bail to score a bag and shoot up till your eyeballs fall out your head, huh?!"

"And then what Sherlock? When the NYPD has banned you and your father cuts you off so you have to hang around crack dens. Then what?!"

"It's not like that this time. I'm in control. Im functioning."

"Who exactly are you trying to convince?! Some of those injection spots are inflamed and you could have thrombophlebitis!" 

"ugh!" He groaned "This is me! This is who i am. It's too late! It was stupid of me to resist something that is so INEVITABLE!"

"Overdosing is inevitable? Kidney failure is inevitable?? Would you listen to yourself!"

"I am a man who burns too brightly, Joan."

Tears streaked her face. Her lips tasted salty and her face was flush.  
"You are a man who hasn't learned to live with himself. So you fucked up, so you fell off the wagon. You can get clean again. You can kick this again and get back to living one day at a time. I can help you.We can start tonight! Start fresh!"

"I've been miserable Watson." he confessed "You were the only thing holding me together."

"I'm still here! I'm right in front of you. So what if I don't live there?! I will ALWAYS be in your life Sherlock."

"I need one last fix. I'm not ready."

"One last fix could be the one that kills you. Thats the junkie in you talking not the man." 

He squirmed.

"I'd handcuff you to the bathroom radiator if I didn't know you could wriggle out of them." She held him firmly by the shoulders "There are two ways of doing this; I can call and get you a room in the rehab of your choice or you can stay in my place and detox here. But i'm calling in backup."

The times she had seen Sherlock cry were few and far between but this time was haunting. "Mycroft can't know. He can't know he's won…"

"Alright I'm going to prepare the room and I want you to go into that bathroom and take a shower. Leave all of your clothes outside the door. Don't even think about running because I will be calling for back up."

Joan knew exactly who she would call. Mrs Hudson couldn't over power Sherlock or withstand his abusive outbursts, but Thomas Gregson could. She prayed he would be up for the challenge.


End file.
